Home
by AnneLaurant
Summary: Phobos and Will take up residence in the Brown's old house… and Phobos turns it into his home. PhoWill; redeemed!Phobos.


Phobos had to be honest - it was heaven to live with Will.

He didn't mean her guardian friends, at all. They gave him wary glares, disgusted looks, and barely any resemblance of recognition. They were of no importance to him. He didn't mean Cedric or his wife either, or Will's family who had little inkling of who he was.

Phobos meant the house the Browns used to live and hide out in. Elyon's old house. Sure, he hated it for being associated with Elyon, so he had to change it. In a matter of months, he and Will completely turned it to their own, and in a matter of weeks, he figured out its walls could be his large canvas.

With Will's approval, Phobos painted the exterior black and let his roses climb up the walls. On the spots where the roses refused to climb, he drew big red roses.

The interior was more or less in Will's colors. However, Phobos was allowed to draw on the walls as he pleased. Hence, he drew dragons, great ones, long ones, small ones. Dragons watched over them as they slept; dragons watched over their mundane tasks and over Will's collection of fake frogs in all sorts of materials available to the crafting world.

In addition to that, he could care for the aforementioned roses that Will's frogs in her garden patch liked to hide among. He loved botany. He loved the feel of soil in his fingers, the way he loved the feel of paints. He loved the tickle of the thorns, of the bladed leaves, of the soft petals.

Reptiles? He'd find another time for them. He had plans, but Phobos was unsure if Will would agree to renovating one part of the house for that.

But, that's not all, though.

Waking up in a room with a canopy bed they built out of a set from that confusing furniture store, right next to Will's tired, drooling self? Oh, Phobos would never exchange this for anything. He'd take the handkerchief on his bedside table and wipe her chin. He'd kiss her good morning, and she'd open an eye and greet, "Sup…?"

He'd brush his teeth, tie up his hair, make breakfast, call Will… the more intricate rituals could take place later, after she was gone for work. Will would sit with him and grin. She's so happy; she's so adorable. Phobos was an ex-prince, and all he knew was making sandwiches or frying meat with the frying pan, but Will appreciated it nonetheless, and she loved drinking the coffee he'd make for her, even if Phobos had tea for himself.

And when she'd go for work, he'd busy himself with painting, or his own work, tutoring those brats and rolling his eyes. He couldn't wait for evening again, for when Will would be back, wrap her arms around him, sigh deeply, and moan about having him to herself, him having her to himself.

Yes. In the evening, they'd spend dinner together, eating in peace, watching the nightly news or reading. Will would talk about work - sometimes she'd have to go away for a while, do some business meetings outside of Heatherfield - and Phobos would feel so lonely, either for himself, or for her. He'd give her a hug. She'd love it and demand a kiss.

And they would kiss. Time would stop for a moment. The night would go silent. Everything around them was nothing. Everything around them would be a spark, a small fragment of the universe. "I love you." They'd exchange sweet everythings in whispered breaths. "Please take care of yourself. I love you." Their arms would wrap around each other. Warm. Tight. Embrace. I love you.

Their routine would continue, and they'd retire to bed. Phobos would wrap his arm around her waist, and Will's hands would play a little bit with his hair, or his lips. One of them would set their phone and play 'Music of the Night'. It's a mutual favorite, and they both imagined themselves sleeping on a starry bed, surrounded by their roses and their beloved animals.

"I'm glad to have you with me."

"Me too."

Then they'd close their eyes. Turn off the bedside lamps. Draw the curtains on their canopy. The music would stop. And they would drift off. Slowly, slowly. Into dreamland, they descend.

Home. This was home.


End file.
